


Get in the Checkout Line

by voleuse



Series: The Latin Root of Mercy [3]
Category: Supernatural, Twin Peaks
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 22:50:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16376525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: The man in front of me jangles coins in his pocket.Cooper is unemployed, it turns out.





	Get in the Checkout Line

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the second season finale of _Twin Peaks_. (I have not watched the new series at all, so.)  
>  The title and summary are drawn from Erika Meitner's spectacular poem, [WalMart Supercenter](https://therumpus.net/2011/11/walmart-supercenter-a-rumpus-original-poem-by-erika-meitner/).

Cooper's apartment was long gone, emptied out into a storage facility that the Bureau had somehow deemed worthy of upkeep. And apparently it would take a while for them to make sure he was officially alive, let alone to reinstate him. (There was an awkward conversation with HR about whether they even had an official job posting available for him, and something about qualifying essays for a hiring matrix. Then Diane had shooed him out of the room, and he decided he didn't want to know anything more after that.)

Albert, with his flair for begrudging, invited Cooper to sleep on his living room sofa for, "well, hopefully not too long, not that any of this will get straightened out efficiently." They ate pizza watching a hockey game and Cooper slept fitfully in a T-shirt and sweatpants that didn't quite fit. In the morning, Albert made coffee and muttered something about monstrous search engines before departing for work, the front door clicking resoundingly behind him.

Cooper drank coffee. He toasted bread and boiled three eggs for himself. He showered. He didn't shave, because the mirror held too many terrors. He dressed in the suit he had woken up in, days and days ago, and tucked his hand into the left jacket pocket, finding the two notes ensconced there, one still sharply creased, the other worn on its corners. 

He settled at the kitchen table and hoped Albert wouldn't mind a long-distance phone call or two. He unfolded the wrinkled note and then dialed Bobby Singer's phone number.


End file.
